


Starship Promise 7 (Atlas 4)

by Yoselin



Series: Starship Promise Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Starship Promise (Visual Novel)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 10:38:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoselin/pseuds/Yoselin
Summary: Originally posted to Tumblr.Name used here is Cadey Shelley.Prompt: “About the baby...it’s yours.”





	Starship Promise 7 (Atlas 4)

I’m not good at flirting.  
Most girls my age could batt their eyelashes and reduce men to blushing and stuttering idiots fawning at their feet, but I am as socially adept as a toddler. Flirting comes as natural to me as the artificial, man made air that permeates throughout my colony. I had never attempted to seduce anyone before, yet I find myself doing just that now.   
My fingers skim the side of the young alien’s arm and I press myself close to him. The man jolts, obviously not used to having women pursuing him, and the scales of his skin ripple in his own form of a blush.   
“You’re doodling plans?” I tap the napkin the alien had been scribbling on. His writing is a mass of chicken scratch and numbers, yet I can make out a few sketches of bits of machinery. Were I not so tipsy, I might be able to make sense of it all.   
The alien glances at his designs as if flustered and moves so that I can see them better.   
“Are you a mechanic?” He leans closer to hear me in the crowded tavern.   
I bite my lip, make a show of it, and brush my hand past his own hand. This earns me a shudder from him of obvious nervousness and interest.   
I may not speak attraction, but maybe my plan is working.   
“Engineer,” I answer and drop my voice into something I hope sounds sultry, “and a good one too. I might be able to help you design this.”   
I offer him my best grin, glad that it seems to dazzle him, and risk a glance past his shoulder. My eyes scan the bar hurriedly, skim past Jaxon, Nova, and Orion chatting in a nearby booth, and zero in on my intended target.   
Atlas sits on his own at a table away from the hubbub. He’s nursing a glass of something that looks like it could knock me out with a single sip and pretending not to see me. I glare at him, will him to see me here with someone else, and bare my teeth into a grin.   
Hours ago, Atlas and I had, had an argument. Ever since I had stumbled into the Promise months ago, he had given me the cold shoulder. Atlas ran hot and cold in every interaction. Sometimes he’d show me that he had a heart beneath his thick layer of sarcasm, and then he’d show me that he couldn’t stand me.   
It was frustrating because I was sure the crush I had on him wasn’t one sided. In the few times he decided to be kind to me, I could see that he cared. The way he grew concerned for me, the way his heart rate accelerated when I was near, and the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention gave it away.   
He liked me back, I was sure of it, yet he was adamant on never revealing it.   
This fact had strained things between us. An already fragile relationship was cracking increasingly. Especially since I had made it my mission to get a rise out of him.   
People often said jealousy prompted action, and I was ready to gander.   
Leaning towards my companion, I pressed my head to his shoulder to attempt to glance at his plans. He tensed, squeaked under his breath in shock, and gave another flutter of scales in obvious embarrassment.   
I feel like dying too, terribly unused to taking the initiative, yet the drink I had been downing for the past few minutes had made it easier to embody someone I wasn’t.   
“You’re really smart, you know, a lot of people wouldn’t make sense of these designs,” I lower my voice again.   
The alien gulps, a sound I register even through the murmur and chatter around us, and coughs awkwardly into his hand. He is flustered and trying to downplay how excited he is to have attention. Poor guy, I feel terrible for using him.   
My throat locks up, mouth thinning into a line, and I really want to scold myself. I’m not the kind of person to use another, yet my frustration with Atlas is driving me.   
I almost back away and apologize to the guy for wasting his time, but then I catch another glimpse of Atlas.   
This time, he is not hiding the fact that he sees me. He is glaring daggers at the alien and drinking his whiskey as if it were water. My little game is getting under his skin.   
This goads me further and I set my hand on the alien’s own hand. My fingers stroke teasingly at his skin and I make a sound under my breath.   
“What’s your name?” I offer a grin to him.   
He gives me his name, a jumble of foreign sounds that my tipsy mind can’t make sense of, and I hum. My leg presses against his under the table and I pick up the chips he had been eating before. I hold it in my fingers and stare at the way the light glints off of the surface.   
“My name is Cadey. It’s nice to meet someone so smart and so attractive,” I chirp. I attempt to wink but maybe I just blinked on accident.   
I’m really not good at flirting.   
I lean closer and down another sip of my drink. The bitter taste of alcohol fills my tongue and I resist the urge to spit it out. Instead, I swallow it down and am rewarded by an increasing feeling of drunkenness.  
I am not a heavy drinker, hate alcohol’s taste with a passion, yet I’ve found myself drinking a lot tonight. Maybe I should have stopped after the third drink?   
The alien fumbles for conversation, I can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he struggles to maintain our ‘connection’, and I decide to throw him a bone.   
“Do you work making spaceship parts?” I press my chin to my hand.   
“Something like that, yeah,” he answers back. He begins to talk about his job, and I only half listen.   
My eyes wander back to Atlas again and I see how tense he is. Even meters away, I can see the rigid way he is sitting. His mouth is chewing on ice from his drink, green eyes narrowed into a scowl, and his knuckles are stark against the glass.   
I bite my lip, cheeks flushing in indignation, and interrupt my companion mid-description of his latest invention.   
“You know, I would love to see your inventions for myself. I’m an engineer so I could probably lend a hand. Why don’t you show me them?” I grin.   
In reality, I have no intention of going home with him, but I just want to rile Atlas further.   
The alien coughs, embarrassment palpable, and he glances away from me. “They’re at my home.”  
His voice is soft, uncomfortable, and I resist the urge to drop the matter. Were I sober, I would have died of embarrassment a long time ago, but I’m more than a little tipsy. Thus, I merely lean forward and persist.   
“I really could help,” I tug at his uniform playfully, “and it would be fun. Yeah?”  
I batt my eyelashes at him, attempt to anyway, and smile.   
The alien opens his mouth, whether to accept or deny it further, I’m not sure. He never gets the chance to answer.   
Moments later, someone is pulling me to my feet and crushing me against their form. I catch the whiff of motor oil and cologne and am met with Atlas. He’s livid, I can tell from the way he glares at me, and I’m more than a little embarrassed for attempting to goad him.   
“You will have to apologize my friend,” Atlas grinds out to the alien, “but she’s had more than her fair share of drinks tonight. I think I’ll walk her home and make sure she doesn’t humiliate herself further.”  
I bare my teeth, hiss out a warning at him, yet Atlas’ grip on my hand remains strong.   
The alien lets out a breath of air, clearly relieved at the interruption, and nods. He offers Atlas an apologetic and thankful smile, as he stands up. “Have a nice night, you two.”   
He scurries away, hands tucking his plans into his coat pocket, and doesn’t spare me another glance.   
So I was making him uncomfortable. Oops.   
I whirl on Atlas and free myself. In my drunken attempts, I stumble and collide against the bar table. Pain flares up my back but I ignore it.   
“Do you have to ruin my fun?” I jab a finger at Atlas’ muscular chest.   
Atlas moves my hand away, green eyes glaring at me, and clenches his jaw. “You’re drunk, yet you never drink. What brought this on?”   
He crosses his arms and I can see the muscles rippling underneath his coat. The sight nearly renders me speechless and my throat constricts. I recover after a few ticks and clench my fists at my side.   
“That’s none of your business. Go back to the crew,” I look away.   
“The Crew left twenty minutes ago. You and I are the last ones left. Do you not realize what I just prevented you from doing?”  
“Having fun?”  
“Putting yourself in danger!” Atlas snarls it at me and nods at the door of the bar where my reluctant companion had fled moments ago. “He was wearing a Union lab coat and was a total stranger. You could have either screwed up and gotten yourself arrested by the Union, or you could have gone home with a serial killer. Either way, I saved your hide.”  
His words register somewhere, probably the rational part of me trying to break through the haze of alcohol, and I push them back.   
My face is coloring, burning me, and I can feel the early symptoms of humiliation settling in. I really made a fool of myself tonight. Hubble.   
I shove away from Atlas in a bid to keep him from seeing the way my teeth are chattering and cross my arms.   
“Why do you care? You threatened to throw me out of the airlock more times than I can count,” I grumble out.   
I don’t give him time to answer. Instead, my hands curl around my jacket and I zip it on. I make a mad dash for the door and Atlas chases after me.   
“We’re not done talking!” He easily matches my strides and I glare at him.   
“You’re not my keeper, leave me alone,” I hiss it at him.   
Atlas grabs my wrist, spins me around, and tugs me forward. I am forced to meet his gaze. “You’re being reckless. That’s not like you.”  
I huff and try to pull myself free. He isn’t budging. Instead, he moves us over to a building and presses me against the wall. He isn’t forcing me against it, but I still find myself cornered.   
I bite my lip to keep it from quivering. Some of the alcohol is wearing off now and is being replaced by a headache. My eyes begin to burn and I clench them shut.   
“Stop pretending like you care.”  
It comes out as a weak plea. As soon as it spills past my lips, I feel him tense. His hands go slack and he lets me go.   
I blink up at him in time to see frustration settling on his face. It darkens his features and makes his scowl more pronounced.   
“I do care, you’re a crew member,” he argues.   
I shove against him but it’s the equivalent of pushing a wall. He is really solidly built and no amount of my strength can compare.   
“You’re confusing me, Atlas! You alternate between being annoyed with me every other hour and making me think you care. This is getting old and I’m sick of it-“  
My voice cracks and I clench my teeth together. My eyes are burning with unshed tears and my nails dig into my palms. I don’t want to cry in front of him, yet tears are inevitable.   
My palms press against my eyes so tightly that it hurts after a few moments, and Atlas removes them. He holds my hands in his and I see the muscle in his jaw jump. He tugs me lightly against him, arms wrapping around me, and his lips brush my ear in a whisper.   
“Let’s get back to the Promise where we can talk this out,” he mumbles.   
I don’t want to. Frustration is washing over me like a tsunami, heartache following it like a chaser, and I tremble.   
“I just need a moment,” I hiss out.   
I rub at my eyes and turn away from him. My heart is pounding in my ears and I feel lightheaded. I want nothing more than for him to leave me alone. I’m not sure I can take him giving me the cold shoulder again. Not tonight.   
Instead of leaving me, Atlas tilts my chin up. His eyes do a sweep of me, taking me in, and I wonder what he sees.   
“You’ve been acting weird all day. What happened?” His tone is light, weary, and I can almost see his worry.   
I flinch and draw back from him. My back presses against the wall and I run my hand through my hair in anger. I’m sick of his worry I’m sick of this twisted dance we play between liking each other and not being able to stand each other. Any other night I could take it, but tonight the alcohol has made me more than a little tired.  
“Stop it. Stop pretending like you care about me only to break me later. I really can’t take it anymore-“  
There goes my voice again. It splinters mid sentence and I bite my tongue hard enough to sting my eyes. The pain brings tears to me and I shatter.   
The dam I’ve been holding breaks and tears run down my cheeks. I cover my face with one hand and sob into it. It’s mortifying to break in front of Atlas and I spin away. I attempt to sidestep him, try to reach the Promise before he can realize I’m crying, but his hands jut out and I find myself in his embrace again.   
Rather than fight him this time, I go weak. My knees shake and my body disintegrates into harsh sobs that wrack my body like an earthquake. I bury my face into the leather of his jacket and dig my nails into the fabric.   
The alcohol is making me emotional, and I will regret showing weakness tomorrow. When the alcohol wears away, I will be left with nothing more than tattered and embarrassing memories of tonight. Yet, I don’t care.   
“Why do you hate me?” I hiccup it into his chest and clench my teeth so tightly I worry they might crack.   
Atlas tenses, hands encircling me tightly, and his voice sounds just above my hair. “I don’t hate you.”  
It’s a quiet murmur, just barely there, and I shudder. My tears continue to stream down like a meteor shower and I take a few deep breaths that shake in tune to the chills rocking my body.   
“You’re confusing, you’re really confusing,” I work at my bottom lip until it hurts. My hands clench against his jacket in utter exasperation. “What do you think of me?”  
The question is barely above a whisper, but once it’s out it hangs limply in the air. It seems to startle us both. Me because I am unsure if I already to hear it answered, and Atlas because he is unready to answer it.   
Some of the alcohol evaporates from my mind, inebriation clearing up like fog, and I turn beet red all over again. Humiliation fills me and I am about to beg Atlas to forget this ever happened, plead with whatever diety is out there to just let me sink into the cracks in the pavement and never come back up, when Atlas pulls me away from him.   
He meets my gaze head on, a swirl of emotions churning there, and his jaw muscle jumps once, twice, three times. My breath catches in my throat.   
“I really do care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt. Come with me back to the Promise. We can talk this out tomorrow,” he breathes out.   
I can hear the plea there, the silent beg, yet I don’t want to wait. My hands catch the front of his shirt and I tug him close. “Tell me.”  
It’s an order more than a request. He goes silent. I don’t know whether I’ve pushed a boundary I shouldn’t have in demanding action now, and my tipsy mind can’t make sense of it.   
Time is torture as it stretches out. I don’t know how long we stay there, pressed against each other, but we do freeze there a while. The silence stretches like a rubber band and I’ve never realized how loud the quiet is.   
Finally, I move away. My tears have dried and left behind a lonely feeling that permeates through me.   
“I’m sorry, I’m drunk,” I wipe at my nose with my sleeve.   
For the umpteenth time, I am mortified. I must look like a mess tonight. I am drunker than I’ve ever been in my life, have bothered a stranger all night, and have now forced the ever stoic Atlas Molniya to talk about emotions.   
What is wrong with me?  
I move to leave, pray that tomorrow will come soon and my hangover will cause me to forget this entire mess, when Atlas moves forward.   
The seconds in between us talking and kissing are a blur. I hardly remember him surging towards me and crushing his mouth on mine. All that registers is the taste of him and the chill that washes through me as his hands crush me towards him.   
I make a startled squeak at the back of my throat, have a few seconds to recover, before tugging on his jacket and pressing myself closer.   
The kiss is something entirely carnal and desperate. I can taste its undercurrent that this will be something we both regret tomorrow. It makes my heart race and head spin.   
I’ve kissed people before, but this is on a whole new level. No kiss has ever been this desperate and maddening.   
It is over all too soon and he is drawing away. His lips are bruised and his eyes are wide with shock. He hisses an apology under his breath, turns white with the utter shock of what he has just done, and stumbles away from me.   
In the aftermath of his kiss, I can taste hard liquor on my tongue. He is as drunk as I am. Funny how I didn’t realize it until now.   
I grind my teeth together, mind going a million light years a minute, and press my fingers to my lips where the taste of him lingers. It is a bitter taste of alcohol and desire, and it fills me with something weird.   
Atlas begins to retreat, jaw hardening, and he spins around. “I’m sorry.”  
His apology echoes harshly against the night and I move without thinking.   
I don’t want him to be sorry. I want him to want this as much as I do.   
I catch the back of his jacket and use it to bring him closer. He lets me, out of sheer surprise, and I match the kiss from earlier.   
The second kiss is as harsh as the first. I can taste the liquor in his breath, taste his desire, and it threatens to overwhelm me. My hands go for his neck this time, his hands move to my waist, and I press us together so tightly that it hurts.   
He backs us into a wall, takes a spot between my legs, and kisses me like we’ll both die without it.   
One kiss turns into multiple. His breath becomes ragged, hands tighten around me, and I move my lips to his jaw. I feel him shake, quiver with restraint, and he hisses underneath his breath.   
“We’re drunk,” he grumbles out.   
“Very,” I agree.   
I press my lips to his throat where his pulse is. It’s beating fast like a hummingbird. He’s as nervous as I am.   
His hands run through my hair, free it from its ponytail, and his lips move to my mouth again.   
We kiss until our lungs threaten to give out, pull away for air, and then meet again. My heart pounds across my rib cage and my breath is ragged.   
I am entirely lost in the sensation of having him so close. For months we’ve been playing a game of chicken. We’ve been too afraid of showing our true feeling’s to one another, but now they’re being laid bare.   
As his lips move to my neck, my hands move to his pants. The moment I reach his waistband, he freezes. Whatever spell had transpired earlier evaporates and he draws back.   
He gently sets me down and rubs at his lips. I catch my breath and stare at him quizzically.   
“What’s wrong?”   
I pant it out and take the moment to steady my heartbeat. The desire burning in me is evident in him too. I can feel it radiating off of him in sharp waves, yet he is backing away from me.   
“You’re drunk, I’m drunk. I’m not doing this when we’re drunk. You probably won’t remember it tomorrow, and I’m not taking advantage of anyone who has had too much to drink.”  
He turns away from me, takes a shallow breath, and builds up his walls. I see them spring up around him, closing him off from me, and dig my nails into my palms.   
“I want this,” I protest. My hand reaches for his. Although he gives me his palm and lets me hold it, his gaze is elsewhere.   
“That’s the alcohol taking,” he protests.   
I clench my jaw. “I wanted you before I drank.”  
Atlas glances at me and I see the battle in his eyes. He wants me, his desire echoes my own, yet he is unable to have me. His resolve is splintered with my every word, but he will not allow it to truly fall apart.   
Instead, he brings my palm to his lips and brushes a light kiss there. The gesture is so romantic and unlike the regular, stoic Atlas that it shocks me.   
“Tell me that when you’re sober and then we can talk this out,” he whispers.   
With that said, he drops my hand gently and spins away. This time, I don’t stop him. I let him walk away with his hands clenched at his side. 

The next morning, my head is killing me. I definitely had too much to drink. As I nurse my hangover with powdered coffee, last night surges back to me.   
My hands press to my face in embarrassment and I want to die then and there. I made a total fool out of myself last night. I never drink and yet I let myself get drunk.   
I pinch my nose and squeeze my eyes shut when the full extent of last night floods back.   
I remember every detail of it despite the alcohol that had marred my senses.   
It is mortifying to remember how Atlas had, had to stop me. I nearly throw up from the utter embarrassment.   
His words from last night echo against my skull.   
“Tell me that when you’re sober...”  
I’m not sure how to take them. I tuck my knees into my chest and grind my teeth together. The rational part of me tells me that I should just let it go, ignore what happened last night and just let things play out. But another part of me wants to do something. I’ve waited long enough to hear Atlas’ thoughts, and I’m not sure patience is a virtue I own.   
I pace anxiously and bite my nail to the quick. My head is a jumble of thoughts and questions and it threatens to drive me insane.   
Finally, after wearing a path into the floor, I decide on my actions.   
Fuck it. I’ve already made a fool out of myself, so what’s another day of it? At least the Promise has an airlock I can fling myself off of when humiliation wraps its noose around me.   
With that thought, I clench my jaw and march towards Atlas’ room. 

The door opens on the third knock and Atlas clenches his jaw when he sees me. He looks the same as ever, no signs of a hangover beating against him like it’s doing against me, and he tenses his fingers against the door knob.   
“Cadey?”  
His voice is gravelly, still half asleep, and I wonder if maybe I should just pretend I had stumbled into his room by mistake and then disappear.   
Then I catch a glimpse of a red mark stark against his neck and the events of last night propel me forward. Now that the alcohol is truly gone from my system, my thoughts are my own. And they are still the same of those of last night.   
I clench my hands at my side and struggle with how to phrase my words. Nothing coherent comes to mind and I decide to just rip the bandaid off.   
No use putting it off.   
“I want to talk about last night,” I state.   
Atlas winces, as if he had wished that I would not remember last night, and he schools his face into something impassive. The door opens wider allowing for me to slip through and then he closes it behind me.   
I take in his room, pristine and crowded with old relics, before he moves away from me. He gives me his back and plops down on his desk. He busies himself with a cogwheel and motions for me to speak.   
I fiddle with my hands if only to give myself something to do other than hesitate.   
“Why did you kiss me last night?”   
The question hangs in the air limply and I almost want to shove it back in my mouth. I regret voicing it out but it’s out there. I see Atlas’ fingers tense against the wheel and he takes a long time to answer.   
“I was drunk,” he grumbles out.   
I bite my cheek painfully. “I know that, but I meant why?”  
“Why did you try to go home with a stranger last night?”  
He deflects my question with a question of his own. I feel my ears burn at the memory of it. Thank the stars that alien was a random stranger whom I will never see again. The embarrassment of bothering him it almost palpable.   
My fingers work at one of my nails and I peel at it until it hurts. So I have to be the one to start this. Fine.   
“Because I wanted to make you jealous.”  
Again, the phrase lingers in the air between us. It’s a pregnant pause that makes my skin crawl. I desperately want him to say something, even if it is to insult me, yet he remains silent.   
I briefly consider running out of his room and begging Orion to drop me off at the nearest space port so I can leave and never return, but the silence finally comes to an end.   
“Because I do care about you.”  
The answer to my previous question jolts me out of my thoughts. I widen my eyes in surprise and fidget with my hands again.   
Atlas sets his cogwheel down and stands. He crosses over to me and meets my gaze head on. I feel faint as I stare at him.   
There’s a billion emotions there that I can’t discern. I’ve never been good at reading people, so his thoughts are a mystery. I want so badly to crack his code, yet I force myself to approach this rationally.   
“I thought you hated me. You never wanted me to join the crew. I stowed away on your ship,” I remind him.   
“I never hated you. You were an annoyance in the beginning, another headache to manage, but I grew to like you. I do care about you, even if I don’t show it.”   
I take a breath to calm myself. “You always alternate between giving me the cold shoulder and being nice to me. It feels like you want me to be away from you. Why?”  
I inch closer to him until I can feel his breath on my face. This time, there’s no lingering scent of alcohol. Atlas is used to drinking in the morning, yet he remains dry today. I’m glad for it. I want to hear his true thoughts and not those brought on by a bottle.   
His fingers reach for my face and tilt my head up. I’m surprised by the gesture and have barely a few seconds to recover. My heart speeds up and I feel a blush coming on.   
“I wasn’t sure I wanted this. You’re younger than me, and I’m not something anyone should endure. Another man could make you much happier. I tried to push you away to remind you of that.”   
I place my hand over his fingers. His honesty is a bright gift this morning. I am thankful for it, and I know I need to match it.   
So, I press on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. He tenses in surprise then lets me. I meet his gaze, let my sincerity bleed through, and lean forward.   
“You told me to tell you of my feelings when I was sober. Well, I’m sober now,” I whisper.   
He shudders against me, a ripple of emotion he tries to hide, and puts his arms around my waist.   
“What do you say now?”  
His voice is above a whisper. I can feel the same restraint from last night present in between us. He’s holding back because he’s nervous about my answer.   
He shouldn’t be.   
Rather than voicing my thoughts, I act on them. My lips press against his and I hold him close. He repeats the action and his resolve disintegrates.   
This kiss is different than the one last night. Last night was wracked with emotions on high and liquor, but this one is true. I can feel his emotions beneath the surface of his skin, the same attraction I have sizzling beneath mine, and can taste sincerity in his mouth rather than alcohol.   
Emotions guide us rather than drunken lust. I meet his embrace with my own passion and let it drive us. Like last night, desire envelops us in its seductive embrace, but, unlike last night, this is entirely our sober consent.   
He backs me against his bed and the furniture bites into the back my knees. He pauses there, waits for me to push him off if I need to escape, but I hold him closer and let myself fall back as an answer.   
With that action, his resolve fully leaves and he presses himself closer. We both lose ourselves to our own emotions and let them envelop us. His body covers mine and I welcome his touch. This time, with the alcohol gone, I know my actions are entirely my own.   
And I know his are too. 

From that day, time drifts forward and changes.   
Our relationship evolves and improves. I’m not sure what to call us, the title of lovers belongs to a conversation we haven’t had yet, but I am sure we’re both content.   
Peace settles around us and lingers in our every breath. It is a beautiful thing that allows for us to spend time in bed with each other when we can and trade simple kisses when we can’t. It’s a lovely and treasured tranquility-  
But it is also a fragile thing. Peace is as sensitive as china glass, and with the tiniest of pressures it shatters.   
Change comes like a brewing storm threatening to overtake everything. It comes in the form of symptoms which take their toll on me. Vomiting in the mornings become common, dizziness in the afternoon are the new normality, and the ever knowing gaze of Nova greets me at every turn.   
When she finally pulls me aside, tells me what is happening, the fragile tranquility cracks and disintegrates into oblivion. I can scarcely believe it, yet my body bids me to listen to her words. I hear her out, realize she is right, and think on my next plan of action.   
Soon enough, I find myself debating how to best proceed. The chess match I am in has become unfavorable, yet I don’t want to declare checkmate just yet. My thoughts swirl and simmer and I wonder what to do.   
I have to tell Atlas, that’s not a question. Although I wonder how I should do it.   
Because, surely, I can’t just tell him,   
“Atlas, about the baby...it’s yours.”


End file.
